Brainurisms

I got it!
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I'm walking down the street, and I hear sirens. Before I know where they're coming from, I cover my ears in fear of my ear drums exploding. 2 more steps and I keep falling over myself.
Seeing stars, persay.
All I feel is my face hit the bumpy, cold concrete.
I pass out.
---------

I wake up, in a pile of rubble.
From cut off fish heads, to little kids underwear.
From beads, to seashells.
Glass to dried pasta.
It's covering my forehead, my pants, and my calves.
I shake myself off, and get up, dizzily -- but I get up.
I rub my eyes;
just to see myself in a place where nothing exists.
It's all white.
A white, blank, world.

I open a door -- it disappears.
I walk on the only colored tile, and it turns dark yellow
then it turns light yellow
then fades to white.

I'm naked, I'm lifeless inside
and I'm confused.
Where do I go from here?
Is this a dream?

Why did I pass out? How did I end up here?

My stomach growls, and my knees shake.
I'm starving.
I guess the only thing to eat is my white; blinding, surroundings.
Or, this dried pasta.
I could boil it with my sweat.
Someone come pick me up..

I NEED YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING.

?

Who am I?
Was this all just for show to get all of you to like me?
Was I just waiting to pull the rope and let the curatins close?

I hope everybody had a great show.

Where is me?
I hope it's not hiding somewhere where I can't wiggle into.
I want it to give up.
I've been playing hide and seek this whole time.

I'm waiting to spew out all the things I've told you, into one big pile for you to see.
A steaming pile of guilt, and "insecurity" and innocence
topped off with those milkshakes I once said I possessed in my veins,
on top of all those bright colors I said were mine
and all of those dinosaurs and that photograph of the granny smith apple crayon melting onto my unshaved leg.

How stupid was I?
Who is I?

Woah is Me.
? is Me.

EDIT-- I think I might cry. What do I like? What is the music playing? Please, ignore all the blogs below. I didn't mean them, I'm not me. OH, don't get me started.

It's when

I start to blast my music to the highest volume it can go -- that I feel like i'm missing an important noise somewhere else.
Causing me to pause my music every 5 minutes.
I feel like someone needs my help, and I can't hear them; like someone is crying for help yelling
"KAYLA! kayla! HELP ME!"
Like music is helping the murderer upstairs killing all of my precious animals,
it's letting him slice my animals heads off with all their unswallowed food coming out of their throats;
blood boiling over in their veins, spilling in jugs all over the carpet.

Maybe, I should go upstairs.

I wish there was a little bit more to this kind of place.
Sometimes, I can't even verbalize half the things I'm even thinking, and when I try to walk the streets to inspire me to have a better brain; a better head on my shoulders,
all I see are monotonous drawings that aren't even accentuated with any type of vibrant colors.
Qualifying into a glass display case that could shatter in moments at any time due to a 1.5 second earthquake.
Just like that your masterpiece is dirty from the concrete floor - from the drywall dust.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I feel as though I'm not original anymore, but unoriginal.
Like, I'm a walking contradiction and a hypocrite even to myself.
Hypocrisy is an illness, that there is no cure for; we might as well all have cancer.
I wish I could be astounded by my mind again, back then it had so much clarity.
It wasn't speckled with toxic thoughts. It wasn't sloshing around in my head as if I didn't need it to survive.
My thought process is a photocopy of Edgar Allen Poe's minus the trippy drugs.
I need my own. I need my own nest.
I need healthy little eggs that soonly turn into ovoids.
They start to gain weight, until they finally hatch.
Metaphors are so spectacular.
THAT'S RIGHT. I need my own nest. My mind needs to lay eggs (my brand new thoughts) because I'm not satisfied, even with my own mind.

---------------------------------------------------------
I think I need out of here.
I want people to stop being shadows and start looking like flesh.
Can't we all make this more exciting?
Stop revolving our lives around wheels?
Around aged newspapers, and past maps?

Can't we just go to a place where nobody knows us?
Nobody gives a damn.
Either way, they won't and never will.

Doubl2 thoughts! 3,4,5,6

I've thought about this now, 6 times today. Seriously.
I keep chaining events together that would end my life.
It's time to draw them out.

Scenerio 1: I'm getting a shower. Everything smells of fruit and peaches. Then all of a sudden I hear the horror movie music and I slip on a razor, cutting my foot half way open simultaneously falling while getting butchered - cracking my skull and/or my ribs off the side of the tub, and laying there with my eyes open wide with the hot steamy water pouring down at me, the shower head watching my death happen.

Scenerio 2: Sitting at my computer. Listening to you me at six. Happy as ever. Hearing the techno song come about the speakers, then all of a sudden, a strange voice calls from behind me. I turn my head to say "Hi" and I get an ax to the face. The ax penetrating my face as my head takes the strikes along with the drums of the song, my head splits into two. Seperates itself, even. Yet again, my face looking up at something pouring onto my face. The mysterious person's tears.

Scenerio 3: Going somewhere on the bus. Walking down the aisle, and some guy puts a black mask on and holds a knife up to my throat. Shoots the driver - the whole entire bus crashes. As I strangle he accidnetally cuts my neck and I bleed to death. Looking up with my eyes wide open, lifeless with the man's sweat pouring onto me.

THEN I REALIZED.
The hotter the shower, the more I become afraid.
Every single scenerio has something pouring on me, taking place of the warm hot steamy water.
Maybe I should stay dirty forever.


Because all I think about in there, is how one day I'll be in a cherry wood casket
with my eyes glued shut
500 eyes looking at me
500 fingernails rubbing up against the threads of my suite jacket
500 make up brands along my face to hide the real, lifeless, me.
500 people weren't even there.

Then they all follow the hurse, where my body lies in that same casket that was surrounded with carnations.
They watch my burial.
Watching me, leaving me there to one day deterorate with the ants and the maggots and the earth's 9 foot hole created just for me to rest up.
Sleep forever.
No field, no 500 fingernails, no 10 lively fingers for you.

Not for you, no, not for you...
G'bye Children.

Grime

The pinch in my stomach is so beyond this world. It feels like I'm on a spaceship, flying up into the unknown. It's pinching me because I'm happy. I feel giddy and empowered and maybe even excited. Honestly, my hair is in knots and my legs are tied up and my arms are covered with popping veins and they're all going to explode! INTO A GAZILLION PIECES! And everyone that loves me gets a piece! Bring a butterfly net. Bring a bucket. Bring colorful sand to throw in the air.

Lovely red and pink scabs cover my cheeks because I've been running faster than the speed of light. Faster than super nova on a drag race car. Detailed freckles cover my back and my shoulders and bright white covers my two front teeth and sunshine yellow cover the back ones.

It's all so dirty. Feeling clean doesn't appeal to me anymore. The smells make me nauseous.

I saw vomit at 6 a.m. in the morning. I dry heaved 6 multiple times, and didn't vomit myself.
The carpet is free. It's clean.
So when I go home, I'm going to fill my stomach, then my esophagus, then my throat then it comes out of my mouth and enters the air and gets to fly for a second. Until I regurgitate so much that it just falls upon that clean-cut carpet.

Sometimes, I imagine myself back in time. In the 1930's somewhere. In that movie with that flapper, and the wall of Jericho and the poor guy falling in love for the first time. I imagine myself as the center rebel of that movie. Coming off the train, as a tranny, pissing in public on the train tracks, vomiting in the sewer, and becoming friends with a giant, and showing him my 16 inch dick, then I would slap him in the face with it, then slap everyone I thought wasn't attractive with it.

"That's very degrading, Kayla."
"Because I'm that giant?"
"Ooh.."

It's feelings like

that. The sound of The Annuals and the fuzzy brown and red seats rattling me like an infant.
That get me to realize I want to die with a bus and music.

this: is a fact.

Petite

It's little things like these that make me realize how detailed and sad the world really is.
You can walk down the street and see a toxic sewer hole in the street with green gases leaking out of the bars.
You can go ahead and not smile all day
all week
all month
and all year.
They'll soonly invent something for you so you can walk down the street and artificially smile at the toxic green gas leaking out of the sewer.
Everything is so artificial.
Even the milk we put in our cereal.
It's swarming with pasteurized chemicals just so it's not natural. So we won't get sick.
It's hidden secrets lie around the cap of the carton.
Flaking off as you untwist that sky blue cap.
Even the yogurt we eat.
The "chunks" of strawberrys in there could be brains for all you know.
Just, concentrated and frozen.
I could spill this all over the boiling desert ground and it would still be frozen.
The brain would break into pieces and never melt.
It's painfully disgusting how people slide this goo down their esophagus' and announce that they're full.
It's utterly disheartening to see how many people don't realize that you are what you eat.

We're all artificial, grab a metal holder that looks like it's used for surgery and place it upon your head. Smell your fingers that reak of metal so it creates a reminder of what's making your smile in your brain that's going to soon be used for yogurt.
Have a happy wonderful day.
Love, the economy.

Dear 99% of my population

Dear Prudence;
You've angered me to the point where I can't take it anymore. You've literally became obsessed with this stuff. It's sickening. That's all you ever talk about, that's all you ever think about that's all you fucking breathe, eat, drink, sleep, look at. It's so disgusting to see someone fold like you did for some goddamn life ruiner. You're dumping what you actually love for what you fake love. It's just humanely impossible for me or anyone to sit there and watch this with a straight face. By that, I mean compared to us looking like we're going to throw up. Who are you? What are you? Talk to me when you're NOT Edgar Allen Poe's asshole. kay?

Love,
-Kayla


Dear Jack;
You look so sad. Are you happy? -I am I swear I am, I promise. Is this a lie? -No, I am I'm so happy just sad and confused. But, you shouldn't live life sad and confused. You need to reach inside your self, open up those floodgates and go swimming. -But I can't swim! Then get some other fishes to help you.

Love,
-Kayla

Dear Isabelle;
You're so gorgeous, and I can't let you get hurt by this gigantic green monster. You're too pretty to fall on your knees. You deserve MUCH better. This is odd, but don't you wish you could marry your brother? Because he seems like the only person that understands you. I wish I could understand you, I mean I do, I really do. But sometimes, I think you just think I'm some kind of imposter that's trying to understand you just so she could have another friend. But that's not what I'm doing at all, sweety. You'll see in the end, that I'll be there when all the monsters go away. Especially that green leafy one. I love you.

Love,
-Kayla

Dear Buggy,
Look how far we've come. Just look. The timeline may be jagged and rugged but we finally made it. Hard work pays off. You're so beautiful and happy and cute and I hate seeing you sad. You made me who I am today, and if it weren't for you, I may not be here. I love you so much, you wouldn't even understand. Maybe If I talked ugly bug you would. Hah, I'm glad I finally have you and I'm glad our adventure is just beginning. Let's ride this truck all the way to Australia together someday with Noah in the backseat. But HEY! I CALL SHOTGUN!

Love,
-Kayla

Here it goes

as big of a bang as the big bang theory.
My dream is once again shot by another person's hands.
one after another.
judge judge judge.
i'll run, you'll see.
laugh now, cry later.

Today,yesterday,before

I've been feeling like the little girl that's been playing hide and seek in the slides at the park forever.
She's finally busted out, good as new.
as she ever really was.
new organs, new melodies, and a new flight.
Conception of life.
she likes it,
and knows that she can't get a lollipop just because she wants one.
She likes the person she's with
he protects her from the mean old monsters under her bed.
And he protects from all the scary silent voices in her head.





She likes you.
Take me home.

Wouldn't you

like to float through life with no direction?
No sense of anything. No logic, unethical probabilities?
No rules, no regulations, no poisonous apples.
Wouldn't you like to float through life like a speckle of dust,
even a germ? or a simple speck of saliva coming from somebody's sneeze?
Wouldn't you like to trip and fall into a big black hole in the ground
and find yourself bigger than a large sofa?
Wouldn't you like to eat all the sweets you could devour without getting a stomach ache?
Wouldn't you like to sniff the flowers without getting allergies?




No pollen, no worries.

Wow, I'm beginning to think, somehow, I deserve this.
Maybe yeah, I'm not the greatest person in the world.
I'm not the best student
and I'm not the best friend.

But I could be if people would give me the chance.

Yknow, I'm real sick.
REAL SICK and tired of being called names.
being judged every.single.place.I.go.
I just, can't do it anymore.

It's tearing me apart
didn't you know?
I'm fragile.
didn't you know?
that I don't know what love is?
didn't you know?
that unhealthy is my middle name?

Someone, please, SOMEONE understand where I'm coming from.
because I'm afraid the most important ones
DON'T.

what happened?
what happened to the "brown haired kayla"
she's gone
all alone in a musty hole
a well, persay.
shivering with no clothes on
goosebumps everywhere you would never imagine.
sending text messages to herself because no one else will.

what happened?
to the you that read me?
I miss it all
I'm afraid it'll never be like that again.

I.MISS.YOU.

ALL OF YOU

come back to me,
save me
please
i'm not healthy
i need some vegetables
i need some water
i need you.
keep me alive
please don't fail me now.

--------------------------------
from now on, I'm going to be alone.
my mouth is going to have imaginary stitches on it.
i'm not talking to any of you.
i'm thinking.
i'm not even going to talk to myself.
so i guess this is goodbye.
to all of you.
even

yes

...you.

SO FUCKING LONG.

"I have a definite fear of reality, when I definitely fear immortality."

Sometimes..

in every person's life, you get rejected by someone or something.
Today, I was so ecstatic, so fucking happy to give my art work to my teacher.
and he rejected it.
Reasoning = Not colored, not finished, it's late, I didn't do my best.
Sometimes.. I wish I could just differ from the regular, normal, population of the world where I could choose what I get rejected on. Because if it's my artwork, they could most definitely crush my dream.
My self esteem is very low, and stupid lately. But I'm working on it, and you know it.
But sometimes.. It's hard to boost it when other people are busy bringing it down.
Yeah, I know what you're thinking, I'm too hard on myself.
Well, isn't everyone?
Isn't the other half of the population that's getting rejected like me taking it even harder on themselves? Like, sticking their finger down their throat, and eating everything under 300 calories a day and watching weight watchers for a hobby?
Maybe if I did something equivalent to that, I could finally feel like I'm enough.
Maybe I am right now, maybe I'm not.

Maybe, I'm just delusional and I just need to calm down.

No, that's not it.

I just need to find something or someone that makes me entirely happy.
I have the someone already, but I need the SOMETHING.
I want to draw like I used to, and I want people to like it.

I wish I wouldn't have gotten rejected.
I just wanted other people to see the real me, but on paper with a pencil.
Eraser shavings all over it, pink and white.

WANT WANT WANT WANT WANT
that doesn't mean anything.

I needed rejection.

HAHAHAH

Hatred is so amusing.

Did you ever really realize that before?
Two people just H A T E each other with a passion. So, whenever one lashes out at someone else other than you, you think it's so funny. I was just thinking about this on the bus for no real reason.
I just thought it was a good topic to speak up about.
Because everybody thinks it's this horrible sin and this horrible thing to do. When really it's like, almost the best human emotion you can ever have. I mean, who knows, maybe I'm being stupid again. Ignorant at that. But, if you really take the time to think about how funny it all really is, and how stupid we must be to just sit back and think of what used to be, it really sometimes lightens up your day somehow. Just to know that you can think how it used to be, but you're so relieved and laid back knowing that it's not like that anymore. You can just lead a good healthy-ish life and not have to worry about that person.

Really, there has been a big weight lifted off of my shoulders in the past day after I broke down.
It actually feels quite nice.

Vanished

Just like all of my friends, and all of the days where I promised myself I would run away.
Run like the wind, with my baloney sandwich in hand and my party bag filled with glow-in-the-dark Casper underooze and my mis-match sneakers that I thought were so cool.

Vanished just like a ghost in the cemetery you swear you saw, but nobody believes you, because you're the only person that it won't disappear for.

Like, the imaginary friend you've always had, that never existed really, but then REALLY didn't exist when you got real friends.

Vanished just like the tree you and that imaginary friend used to talk about your problems under. Isolated yet still in public. Just sitting there with your arm around the air sitting next to you, asking questions about life and answering yourself.

Disappearing is so overrated.
It's so vague.



Nobody can elaborate.
I just want to know what's behind it.

What happened to that shirt I wanted to wear today?
What happened to the dad I used to have?
What happened to the me I used to be?
What happened to all of my baby clothes with throw up on them?

I want them back. I wish the air didn't have to take them like that.
Or maybe, my mind has disappeared and will never come back. Maybe this is all just an illusion and disappearing isn't even real. Maybe we all need more sleep to gain composure. Maybe, we should all just go into quarantine until we're mentally stable. Or, maybe that's just me.

COULD EVERYONE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?
I'M NOT THIS
I'M NOT THAT

I
AM
ME.

To all

the people who think they're pretenders. who think just maybe one day
they'll be something so intelligent and smart and huge in life
but really have no fucking clue what the words they use half the time even mean.
the dictionary is a lovely tool, isn't it?
we're all clueless, why can't you get that?
both of you are just so pointless, and stupid.
it really makes me laugh.

EDIT;
to you. stop being so fucking clueless and maybe i'll lighten up on your ass!